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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767287">Another Side Of You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle'>PeriPeriwinkle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(or so he thinks), Board Games, Drinking, Hanging Out, M/M, Motorcycles, Unrequited Crush, Valentine's Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:35:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A loud rumbling from the street interrupts their thoughts; there's a sleek black bike cruising down the road, turning heads left and right, and Jon scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. Just another flashy guy on his way to see his girlfriend, showing off his ride. Typical for Valentine's day.</p><p>But, much to Jon's surprise, the biker actually parks almost right in front of them. They watch as the man dismounts, puts some coins in the meter, then takes off his helmet, storing it safely in the bike’s trunk and <i>wait holy shit that's Martin.</i></p><p>The gang hang out together on Valentine's Day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>505</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Another Side Of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was based and inspired by <a href="https://nwarrior777.tumblr.com/">nwarrior's</a> comic of hot!Martin in a motorcycle, which you can see <a href="https://nwarrior777.tumblr.com/post/642674667115708416/">here</a>. It's a national treasure and it must be cherished.</p><p>I hope you all enjoy it! Stay safe my lovelies &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin sells the car as soon as his mom moves out.</p><p>It makes sense, after all. It was his mom’s car to begin with, but it’s been nearly two decades since she sat behind its wheel—not exactly by choice. The only reason why she didn’t get rid of it after she wasn’t well enough to drive it was because Martin drove her to all of her doctor’s appointments, but that was more or less about it. Martin never really took it out for anything else, as there was an Aldi right around the corner and paying for parking in central London was more expensive than taking the tube, so about three hundred and fifty five days out of the year the car just sat on its parking spot, gathering dust and grime. Not to mention that if he ever needed to take the car out for personal affairs he had to ask his mom for permission, and nine times out of ten the stress of doing so just wasn’t worth the trouble.</p><p>But now, well. Martin supposes neither he nor his mom really need it anymore.</p><p>(Before she leaves for the care home Martin asks if he can actually sell it, and if she’d like him to put the money in her bank account. She scoffs in response and tells him that anything she hasn’t already packed to take with her might as well be garbage and he can throw it out for all she cares.</p><p>Martin tries to pretend that doesn’t apply to him as well and fails miserably.)</p><p>Soon after his mom leaves he moves out of the two bedroom house that he’s lived in his whole life and into a one bedroom flat on the outskirts of London, about an hour train ride from the city center. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s nice and cozy and, most importantly, it’s <em>his</em>.</p><p>The building Martin moves into has a dedicated parking space for each flat, meaning that should he ever consider getting a vehicle he doesn’t have to worry about a parking permit in his area, which is a nice bonus that the real estate agent tried to sell him as a major boon of the place. At first Martin didn’t give it much thought since he has absolutely no plans to get a car anytime soon, if ever—there’s a Sainsbury’s just two blocks away from his building, and parking in London hasn’t stopped and won’t ever stop being absolutely ludicrous—but after he moves in he goes downstairs and stares at the empty parking spot, his flat’s number painted on the concrete floor. He stares and thinks of the leftover money he has from selling his mom’s old car; he knows the sensible thing is to not touch the money at all, either keeping it in his account in case of an emergency or as a contingency plan if his mom ever changes her mind and decides to reclaim the money that is, in fact, technically hers, since it was <em>her car</em>. That <em>was </em>his plan all along, and it’s the safe, sensible, <em>responsible </em>thing to do.</p><p>But also...</p><p>It’s not like there’s anyone around to not-so-silently judge Martin on where he spends his own money, isn’t it? Not anymore.</p><p>And that feels incredibly freeing to Martin. Suddenly he feels bold, empowered, <em>excited</em>. The fact that he can now do <em>anything </em>without having to explain himself first or grovel for forgiveness after. He hates to think of it this way, hates calling it <em>freedom</em>, but he cannot think of a better word to describe this feeling, this powerful knowledge that he can do whatever the fuck he wants, no questions asked.</p><p>So Martin buys himself a motorcycle.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Tim plops his arse down on Martin’s desk, making him yelp and jump as his papers get messed around. He glares up at the man, who fully pretends he does not see it.</p><p>“So. Valentine's day, huh.”</p><p>Martin sighs, runs a hand over his face. “If you’re here to rub it in that I have no date this year <em>again</em>, Tim--”</p><p>“No, come on, Martin, I’m not <em>that </em>cruel. No, I’m here with <em>plans</em>.”</p><p>Martin looks up at him, brow raised. “Timothy Stoker, are you <em>propositioning </em>me?”</p><p>“Depends, would you say yes?” He grins, and Martin giggles, shoving him playfully. They’re at a point in their friendship that they can flirt and joke and not have it be awkward, and that really pleases Martin. “No, but seriously. Valentine's day, this Saturday. I propose an archives day out. The four most gorgeous singles in the Magnus Institute, giving couples everywhere the metaphorical middle finger by having actual fun instead of looking awkward and stiff in overpriced, stuffy restaurants like the rest of the world.”</p><p>Martin pauses. Leans over to see Sasha sitting at her desk, seemingly focused on work, but Martin knows better.</p><p>“And you agreed to this, Sash?”</p><p>She shrugs, eyes glued to her laptop screen as she furiously types something down, her fingers flying across the keys. “I’m not doing anything Saturday.” She finally looks up, gives Martin a pointed look. “Are <em>you?</em>”</p><p>Martin opens his mouth, closes it. For a second he considers telling them his plan of cooking some homemade pasta and downing a whole bottle of cheap wine to drown his sorrows, but refrains from doing so.</p><p>“On one condition,” Martin says instead, and Tim smiles.</p><p>“Jon’s coming too.”</p><p>Martin squints, suspicious.</p><p>“<em>How</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m <em>dragging </em>his ass if I have to. I know where he lives and I will use this knowledge to my full advantage, whether he likes it or not.”</p><p>“I’m telling HR,” Sasha pipes up from her desk. Martin snorts.</p><p>“No you’re not.”</p><p>“Yeah no I’m not.”</p><p>Tim laughs, leans in very close to Martin, pulling out a hand for a handshake. “So? What do you say? Do we have a deal?”</p><p>Martin pauses. Presses his lips together, scratches the back of his head.</p><p>“...yeah okay,” he finally says, taking Tim’s hand in his, and Tim shakes it so hard Martin’s almost worried he’ll dislocate his shoulder.</p><p>“It’ll be the best Valentine’s Day ever, Martin! Don’t you worry your pretty little ginger head. It’ll be <em>epic</em>.”</p><p>Which, in Tim’s language, means it’s probably going to involve a lot of booze and party games. Martin chuckles.</p><p>“I’ll be holding you to that promise, Stoker.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>There’s a half dozen, obnoxiously loud knocks on Jon’s door, and he jumps, startled.</p><p>“I know you’re in there, Jon! Come on, come out!”</p><p>He stomps to his living room and throws the door open, glaring at Tim with a frown.</p><p>“And now <em>the entire block </em>knows it too, Tim, <em>thank you very much</em>. Can you keep it down?”</p><p>Tim smiles. “Sorry, mate," he says, not looking guilty in the slightest. "You ready?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, give me a second,” Jon says, sighing. He grabs his keys from the hook next to the door, puts on his shoes, pats his coat pockets to make sure he has his wallet and phone with him and steps out, closing the door behind him. “Hello, Tim, nice to see you too.”</p><p>“Ahw, don’t be like that, boss!” Tim says, throwing an arm around Jon and gesturing with his free hand. “Look, the sun’s shining for once, you’re out of your house on a Saturday, the weather’s not below freezing despite your chilly demeanour... it all might as well be a winter miracle!”</p><p>Jon sighs, but walks in step next to Tim. “<em>Yes</em>, it’s all grand and marvelous, Tim, <em>tip top cheerio</em>. I honestly don’t understand the <em>joy </em>you get out of something as banal as this. We’re just meeting up for some food and games, and that’s all. Nothing <em>grand </em>about that.”</p><p>“Aw, look at you, sour as usual,” Tim says, nudging him in the shoulder, and Jon shoves his fist away meekly, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Can’t blame me for enjoying the small things in life, boss. Not everything has to be gold and platinum to be special. It can just be, you know, hanging out with the crew!”</p><p>Jon sighs, relents. He’s just being an ass, he <em>knows </em>he is, but it’s hard to shake off his usual grouchy persona when he would’ve much preferred to spend his Saturday in bed like he usually does. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy his friend’s company, but he also appreciates his alone time, and last minute plans disrupt his entire schedule. It’s mildly annoying, but he knows he’ll soon be enjoying himself, so he refrains from complaining any further and goes along with Tim.</p><p>Soon enough they’re at the tube station; Sasha meets up with them halfway to their destination and they disembark at a not too busy neighbourhood—although everywhere’s at least somewhat busy on Valentine’s Day.</p><p>They go inside a Tesco to buy some drinks and snacks, and Sasha looks around with a frown once they step out with their purchases.</p><p>“Where’s Martin?” She asks, and Tim pulls out his phone.</p><p>“Said he’s running a bit late but should be here soon.”</p><p>A loud rumbling from the street interrupts their thoughts; there's a sleek black bike cruising down the road, turning heads left and right, and Jon scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. Just another flashy guy on his way to see his girlfriend, showing off his ride. Typical for Valentine's day.</p><p>But, much to Jon's surprise, the biker actually parks almost right in front of them. They watch as the man dismounts, puts some coins in the meter, then takes off his helmet, storing it safely in the bike’s trunk and <em>wait holy shit that's Martin</em>.</p><p>"Sorry for being late, guys! I hope you weren't waiting for me for too long?"</p><p>Jon stares. And stares. And then stares some more. Next to him he can hear Tim trying to speak, but all he manages are a few choked-off squeaky noises.</p><p>"M-<em>Martin?!</em>" Tim exclaims, laughing. Martin blushes, runs a hand through his hair, slightly mussed from the helmet.</p><p>"Y-yeah, hi! Uh. I guess you guys have never seen my bike, huh."</p><p>"<em>Is that a Kawasaki Ninja?</em>" Tim downright squeals, stepping towards the bike in long strides. Sasha snorts.</p><p>"Looking good, Martin," she says, nudging Jon's shoulder. "Don't you think so, Jon?"</p><p>Martin's face turns completely red as he laughs, turning back to Tim as he sits atop the parked bike and runs his hand over the bike’s handles, gushing over something here and another there. Jon, much like Martin, finds he has no response to Sasha’s very rhetorical question because, <em>well</em>, she’s not <em>wrong</em>. Martin's wearing dark wash jeans that are folded up at the hem to show off a pair of matte Doc Martens, which match perfectly with the black, well-worn leather jacket he's wearing, a thick, dark green turtleneck tying the whole look together.</p><p>It's a lot to take in and Jon's still thinking of a way to answer Sasha cohesively without being <em>inappropriate </em>and making Martin even more flustered when Tim finally seems to have fondled the bike enough and comes back towards the two of them, both hands on Martin's shoulders and cheek squished against Martin's.</p><p>"Don't you dare downplay it, Sash, he looks <em>hot</em>, full stop. Martin, I feel like I didn't know you before now, this is <em>amazing</em>. You’ve been holding out on us."</p><p>"Alright, alright," Martin giggles, pushing Tim away. “Enough of focusing on me, now! I was promised drinks, yeah?”</p><p>The four of them finally head off into the pub. The inside is warm and not too loud, and Jon notes with satisfaction that there are not a whole lot of couples in, as a board game pub is much more a friends hangout and less a hot spot for romance. They take a table big enough for the four of them and Tim comes down with a box of Cluedo just as the waitress is taking their drink and snacks orders. Martin sensibly sticks to crisps and fizzy pop, but the rest of the table orders several pints of cider, the four of them becoming louder and rowdier as the losers scream <em>revenge </em>at the end of every round. It’s only hours later, when they get bored of Cluedo and Tim suggests <em>Monopoly </em>that they decide that <em>perhaps </em>they’ve had enough alcohol for the day and should maybe grab some lunch to avoid having an overall unpleasant Sunday.</p><p>They pay the bill and walk towards the nearest café, and after each of them acquire their choice of food and drinks they set off to the closest park bench to eat. Tim digs into his BLT sandwich and groans, looking away from the grassy planes and back towards his friends.</p><p>“God, there were <em>not</em> this many lovebirds back in the pub,” Tim grouches, looking away from all the happy couples taking small little spaces around the park. It’s too cold for a proper picnic, but plenty of them have sat down in the grass anyway, or are instead just strolling around, enjoying the rare treat that is a day of sun during winter.</p><p>“I would not have taken you for the jealous sort, Stoker,” Sasha teases, and Tim splutters.</p><p>“‘m not jealous! Just... annoyed!”</p><p>“Why annoyed?” Martin asks, nibbling on his own butter croissant. Tim gestures wildly, struggling with his words.</p><p>“<em>I don’t know</em>, they don’t have to look so goddamn <em>happy </em>all the time<em>,</em> I guess.”</p><p>“Awww, Tim, you <em>are </em>jealous! That’s <em>adorable</em>,” Sasha coos, throwing her arms around him. Tim frowns and bites his sandwich a bit more forcefully than he normally would’ve.</p><p>“Maybe,” he mumbles, and Martin giggles, looking away.</p><p>Jon watches the whole thing unfold with what feels to him like detached curiosity. He hasn’t dated anyone since Georgie and hasn’t really felt the need to, but of course most people are not like him, and despite his coworkers declaring loudly that they’re okay being single, days like Valentine's day must hit differently after a while. He takes a bite of his sandwich, watching as Sasha pokes Tim in the ribs and Tim responds by screeching like a wild banshee, but Jon notes that, on the other end of the bench, Martin's awfully quiet. He seems to be looking at the park at large, most likely admiring the couples that are holding hands, with what Jon might call a melancholic look in his eyes. Bittersweet, perhaps; like he’s happy for them, but also wishes he could also be a part of it all.</p><p>Jon takes another bite of his sandwich and sips his tea. <em>Perhaps it <strong>would </strong>be nice</em>, he starts to think, but just then Tim laughs at something Sasha says, startling both Jon and Martin from their trance to laugh along with them.</p><p>They take a bit of an impromptu walk after that. Sasha and Tim lock arms together and speak to each other like over the top lovebirds, making a silly parody of the couples around them as they call each other goofy pet names like <em>love</em>, <em>darling </em>and <em>poppet</em>. Jon groans but it just makes Martin giggle harder, so he guesses it’s not all bad. When the sun’s close to go down they walk all the way back to that corner where they first met up so that Martin can get back to his bike.</p><p>Martin takes his own helmet plus a spare one from the bike’s trunk and offers it to the three of them.</p><p>“I can give someone a ride home?”</p><p>(Jon’s looking at Martin’s bike with a mix of curiosity and dread, so he completely misses the way Tim widens his eyes in childish glee, as well as the pointed elbow jab Sasha gives him.)</p><p>“Ah– thanks mate, but I’m gonna ride the tube with Sash. Make sure she gets home okay and all that.”</p><p>(Martin shoots Tim a <em>look </em>while Jon's distracted, which Tim returns with a waggle of his brows and a grin.)</p><p>“Jon, you should <em>definitely</em> take it,” Tim says, nudging Jon’s shoulder. Jon hums.</p><p>“Thank you for offering, but I’m pretty certain I live in the complete opposite direction from your flat, so I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” Jon says, and Martin shakes his head, gesturing for Jon to take the spare helmet.</p><p>“I don’t mind it. To be honest, I rarely ever ride my bike, so I might as well take it for a spin. Wouldn’t be offering if I couldn’t do it.”</p><p>“O-oh. Alright then,” and Jon takes the helmet before turning to Tim and Sasha, who have almost matching smiles on their faces, cheeks still rosy from the drinks they had earlier. Probably. “I’ll see you both Monday, then.”</p><p>“Happy Valentine's day, Martin, boss!” Tim says, waving wildly as they turn towards the Tube station, and Martin flips Tim off as he puts on his own helmet.</p><p>“<em>Shut up</em>, Tim,” Martin hisses, kicking the bike’s rest up and revving the engine on. “Hop on, Jon.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Martin almost regrets offering them a ride.</p><p><em>Almost</em>.</p><p>When he first offered he wasn’t thinking that <em>Jon</em> would be the one to take him up on it. It’s also not that he didn’t <em>want </em>Jon to accept it, per say, it’s more that he didn’t <em>consider </em>that possibility in the first place, and so he didn’t quite think about the <em>implications </em>of what would happen should it so happen. Martin never would’ve taken Jon as someone who doesn’t mind riding a motorcycle.</p><p>Martin often forgets Jon isn’t actually the stuffy old man he pretends to be at work, and in fact is just a guy in his mid-to-late 20s who paints his nails once every two weeks, if Martin’s observations are correct (and he knows they are).</p><p>So here they are now, and since backtracking will do Martin no good he just has to chill out and pretend he’s completely fine, even as his heart beats so hard it feels just about ready to burst out of his chest.</p><p>Jon fiddles with the helmet buckle, and Martin gestures for him to come closer so he can help with it, and much to Martin’s surprise Jon goes without a word of protest. Martin manages to hide the nervous tremor of his fingers as he fiddles with the straps, trying not to linger on the sensation of Jon’s stubble against his fingers as he clicks the buckle closed and checks to see if it’s too loose or too tight. Once the helmet is firmly in place Jon carefully climbs onto the back of the bike, ever so gingerly placing both hands on Martin’s shoulders. Martin makes sure that Jon's okay, asks where he’ll be taking him, and off they go.</p><p>But when the bike picks up some speed Martin feels Jon’s fingers grip the shoulders of his jacket, the soft leather bunching up under his fingers, body leaning forward until Martin feels the warmth of Jon’s chest against his back; it truly takes all of Martin’s willpower to not veer the bike off the road and kill them both by accident.</p><p>They ride for a while, the cold afternoon wind cooling off Martin’s burning cheeks, and when they’re close to the London bridge Jon pokes Martin in the shoulder. He stops at the next red sign and looks back at Jon.</p><p>“Can we, uh,” Jon screams to be heard over the sound of the engine, pointing back towards the bridge, and Martin turns to look at it. The sun’s nearly setting and the day is quite nice indeed, but surely he can’t mean...? Martin looks back at Jon and lifts a single brow.</p><p>“The sunset?” He asks, and much to his surprise, Jon nods and gives him a thumbs up.</p><p>Martin’s heart picks right back up, making his vision swim for a second. He breathes in, gives a sharp nod, and when the light turns green he takes the next turn towards London Bridge.</p><p>He parks the bike on the first spot he finds, taking Jon’s helmet from him before taking his own off, his heart leap to the back of his throat when their fingers brush momentarily. By a miracle he manages to keep it together, opening the bike’s trunk with his back to Jon so that he can better compose himself, running his hands through his hair so his curls don’t look mushed down and flat against his head. Jon doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about Martin when he turns back around and he takes it as a small victory.</p><p>There’s already several couples standing on the bridge once they get there, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads touching; Martin gets a bit flustered, wondering if Jon feels it’s awkward for them to be standing next to all these happy couples and be potentially mistaken for one themselves, but either he truly does not care or it doesn’t affect him at all, his brown eyes firmly glued towards the Thames. Martin joins him and takes a deep breath, appreciating the cold air that cools down his burning face and settles his nerves somewhat.</p><p>They stay in silence for a few minutes, just observing the sunset and listening to the sounds of the city around them, when all of a sudden Jon pipes up.</p><p>“Did you know that Valentine's Day originates from a priest who began marrying people in hiding?”</p><p>Martin turns to him, surprised. The sun is shining on his bronze skin, so Martin can’t tell if the slightly darker tone on his cheeks is <em>actually </em>a blush or just wishful thinking on his part. Before he can say anything, however, Jon carries on.</p><p>“He wasn’t doing it for love, not really, but rather because marriage was outlawed at the time. This was so that people's properties would go to the government once they passed away. Can’t argue that you’re entitled to a deceased partner’s assets if there was never a documented marriage in the first place.”</p><p>“Huh,” Martin says, looking back down at a small boat that’s slowly coming down the river. “I didn’t know that. But just because he wasn’t marrying people <em>because</em> they loved each other it doesn’t mean that the people he married <em>didn’t</em> love each other, you know?”</p><p>Jon hums, a tiny wrinkle in between his brows, eyes still glued to the sunset. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”</p><p>Martin smiles. The fact that Jon agreed with him straight away instead of trying to argue or offer a counterpoint shows, to him, how much he’s changed for the best in the few months they’ve known each other. The fact that he’s come with them all to this day out is also a testament of this; it’s nice, to see this side of him, to know he’s right to think that there’s more to the uptight and serious persona he puts on when he’s playing the role of Head Archivist at work.</p><p>“I'm glad Tim organized this day out,” Martin says, sighing. “This was really nice. If I weren't here with you guys I most definitely would be sitting at home, watching mind-numbing shows on the telly and feeling sorry for myself.”</p><p>Jon seems to pause at this, and Martin waits, allowing him to take it in. He doesn’t look his way because he’s embarrassed for blurting out something so sincere and heartfelt, nervous about having potentially overstepped a secret unspoken rule of their still so fragile friendship, but it’s true and he wants someone to just know it. He wants his friends to know how glad he is for them and how much they all mean to him. Martin’s not sad that he’s spending yet another Valentine’s Day alone, which is <em>huge</em>; taking his mind off of the date for a few hours by having some jolly fun with people he well and truly cares for was exactly what he needed and he didn't even know it.</p><p>“Well, I'm glad you came, Martin,” Jon whispers, so softly Martin only catches it because of how close they are standing next to each other.</p><p>Martin ducks his head and smiles, hiding his blush behind the collar of his leather jacket, the tip of his ears burning something fierce and his stomach fluttering with butterflies.</p><p>Maybe his crush doesn’t have to be something silly and impossible, after all.</p><p>On the horizon, the sun finishes going down, the sky begins its hue change into dusk, and they walk back in a rather comfortable silence towards Martin’s motorcycle.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic inspired a comic by the artist who first inspired this fic!!!! the layers, y'all. <i>the layers!!!</i></p><p>You can see it <a href="https://nwarrior777.tumblr.com/post/644475341086294016/comics-based-on-fanfic-based-on-comics-based-on">here!</a> Seriously, go see it and send the artist all of your love because they're so good and I am dead. deceased. just gone, rip me. I love it so much words cannot ever describe how happy I am 🥺</p><p>and for everyone who's already read this fic and left me super kind words: thank you thank you thank you!!! it means a lot to me that people have liked this fic so much! after months of trying to shake off a terrible writer's block it feels like I came back with one hell of a bang, and dang it truly feels good to be back here writing for all of you! keep on being awesome everyone, I truly appreciate your support so, so much 💕</p></blockquote></div></div>
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